In the churchyard, the late days of autumn have robbed the trees, stripping the bronze from the horse chestnuts, the gold from the sycamores and beech. In the tower of the ancient stone church a single bell begins to toll, as Dora’s coffin is carried between the crooked headstones towards the studded oak door.

The church is full. Every available seat on the polished black pews is occupied, and there are mourners standing under the medieval stained-glass windows with their scenes of saints’ blessings and the rising of the dead. Jack, Matt, Claire and Evan take their reserved places at the front and the first hymn begins, the wheezy old organ always a few notes ahead of the congregation.

As the congregation sits, the vicar ascends to the pulpit and talks about Dora, about where she was born, about her sisters and her schooldays, about how all those years ago she and Jack met and fell in love. There’s another hymn – ‘I Vow to Thee My Country’, because Dora loved the tune – and then Matt’s called to read his mother’s eulogy. He looks handsome and smart in his black suit, and as he walks straight-backed and solemn to the pulpit steps, Jack thinks how proud of him Dora would be.

In the end it’s not the vicar’s reminiscences which fell Jack’s resolve not to make a fool of himself, but the realisation that his Dora’s lying there in a box, unable to see or hear her son at her side. He pulls a white handkerchief from the pocket of his jacket.

Matt’s hands are trembling, and as he begins to read his speech, his voice is breaking. Somehow the words come out, telling of an idyllic childhood, of help with homework and picnics by the sea and of his gratitude for all the years of diligent care.

Then he speaks of sponge cakes and splendid roses, and the one thing that defined Dora beyond all else.

‘Without any doubt,’ he says, ‘my mother was the kindest woman who ever walked this earth.’

And Jack weeps.

Misery loves company. With Dora gone, the misery is more Jack’s than Evan’s, but Evan’s preference for silence suits Jack’s grief while his presence and need for care prevent Jack from sliding from shock and despair into suicidal depression.

In fact Evan has been a godsend, dealing capably with most of the mundane tasks relating to the farm, prodding Jack into action when he can’t cope by himself to shift bales and sacks of feed. The season’s growing cold, and overnight frosts have already glazed the puddles on the yard, transforming the meadows to silvery white. It won’t be long before the first snowfall, and Christmas will soon be looming, when Jack knows Dora’s loss will be even harder to bear.